


if you're alone in your room

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha Zayn, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Niall, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2890001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would you let him suck you off?”</p><p>It’s so sudden, so out of place. “Zayn—”</p><p>“If I was there, watching, and you were hard and going into heat and begging for someone to touch you, and I said that it was okay, would you let him, like?” Zayn asks. There’s genuine curiosity in his tone, smugness arching his eyebrows. He’s so beautiful and it drives Niall mad.</p><p>“Yeah,” Niall whimpers.</p><hr/><p>Niall and Zayn invite Harry for a threesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you're alone in your room

**Author's Note:**

> As always, any and all mistakes can be blamed on my betas, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/) and [laziallgna](http://laziallgna.tumblr.com/)! **I'm kidding!** Ty so much, lovelies!

Zayn’s been looking at Niall a little weirdly, and if Niall had to guess, it’s not because he’s just had his hair styled a different way, or because of the new jumper he bought. That would mean a smile and a cuddle and an arm around his waist, to say, “You look good, love.” Instead, Zayn is doing that half-squint stare that’d be creepy from anyone else, but a knee-quaking smolder when it’s coming from Zayn.

Honestly, it’s probably down to the other night, when Harry had combed Zayn’s hair back into a slick ponytail as he told Zayn, “We’re bun buddies.”

(“Looks alright,” Zayn relented. He’d been tentative to let Harry get his hands on him, since Harry tends to make some questionable decisions regarding fashion. And that’s fine for him, because if those clothes and hairstyles make him happy then everybody else is happy, too – so long as he doesn’t try to spread the Styles approach onto people who have no interest.

“Looks _good_ ,” Harry had corrected, all potential offence lost to the concentrated knot between his eyebrows as he drew the fine teeth of the comb through Zayn’s soft hair, shiny and damp from Harry’s array of styling products.

“Put your tits away,” Louis griped, leaning forward to pinch Harry’s exposed nipple.

Despite the miserable look Zayn was sporting—pretty, pouty, and pleading—Niall couldn’t help but agree with Harry. Zayn has the kind of face that can work anything, and right now it was working Niall’s dick and arse into a right state, hopefully hidden in the way his trousers bunched up at the front.

“You _do_ look good,” he’d murmured, crawling into Zayn’s space. Out of everyone, Zayn always smells the best, and he turned his head into Niall’s looming kiss – Harry was petting his poor nipple, still holding Zayn’s little ponytail in his other hand. “Are you whispering to it? You’re mental, Haz,” Niall’d managed as Zayn took his tilted head as an opportunity to suck at Niall’s throat. “Oh, Christ.”

“Jesus, Niall, you’re one to talk. You’d fuck him with us right here, wouldn’t you?” Louis asked, circling back from the minifridge with two beers, and pinching Harry’s other nipple on the way.

“Hey,” Harry whined. “You’ll make them all swollen.”

“Good. Then we can splatter you black and white and sell you to a dairy farm.” Louis was pissy because Eleanor’s plane was delayed. They were supposed to have hours to shag in the comfort of their own home, having only got off together over Snapchat and Skype for four days, but her plane ended up getting to the airport just minutes before he was due to leave. “Anyway, Niall. You’re not denying that you’d definitely sit on his dick right now. Shameless, the pair of you.”

“Please don’t take that as an invitation,” Liam said.

Niall was in too deep to not think that sex with Zayn was a fantastic idea. God, he hadn’t been dicked in, what, a week? Maybe a week and a day? He was getting wet just thinking about it; Zayn’s hand got tight on his waist and Niall wanted it on his cock, or his arse, mind already casting memories of how good Zayn’s fingers feel when they’re so deep and firm inside him. Was that too much to ask?

Batting off Harry’s hands, Zayn hauled himself up first, Niall second.

“You’re not doing it through there,” Liam’d frowned in disbelief. “Look at Niall. You know he— He’s really loud when he’s like this, Zayn.” He seemed to think that Zayn was the voice of reason, as though his recently tattooed hand wasn’t sitting on Niall’s arse, finger rubbing suggestively against his hole through his trousers and pants.

And usually Zayn _is_ the one who remembers that Niall likes privacy, likes to keep to himself, but right now Niall was scenting up, to the point where Harry was looking at them with all sorts of rabid interest. Being the only one in the group who isn’t mated sometimes means that he gets caught in the crossfire, working himself into a proper fit of horny frustration if he can’t go out on the pull to get rid of that pooling energy.

“It’s our room,” Niall scoffed. “You lot can leave.” He was a week from his heat, but sometimes he just needs Zayn’s knot in him. Tonight, he could barely wait. Louis was right when he said that Niall would have Zayn there and then, on the carpet, rutted into the floor with all of them watching. All that supposed shame and need for privacy wouldn’t stand in the way of getting Zayn’s knot, because Liam was also right; Niall _does_ get a certain way when he wants something the way he wanted Zayn that night.

After that, Niall and Zayn went for an almighty, wall-shaking, hour-long romp on their King bed, leaving them both covered in spunk and sweat and, at one point, Niall’s _tears_. Zayn had made him come so many times that the pleasure barely overpowered the ache of overstimulation, and yet they couldn’t help themselves. While Harry stayed, Liam and Louis made the sensible decision to bugger off somewhere, neither of them sticking around long enough to persuade him otherwise.

Zayn wanted to go straight to sleep afterwards, but all of the towels were in the living room, and Niall’s arse and tummy were too sticky to sleep with, so they begrudgingly went to clean Niall up.

It’s a survival thing, apparently, that anyone worth their nuts can smell a third wheel after sex. Something about being able to sense danger when partners were unable to pull apart, made vulnerable by the knot tying them together. Obviously things have come a long way from fending off alphas and claiming omegas like chess pieces, but that didn’t dull the instinctive, squirmy feeling in Niall’s tummy when they opened the door and saw that their hotel room was not, in fact, empty.

Harry was there, and— Niall kind of knew that he would be, like, he doesn’t know _how_ , but it didn’t surprise him even slightly to find that Harry’s hand was still in his sweats, holding his softening knot. He’d spunked down his impressive abs, a spot of it smeared on his chin like he tried to wipe it away but got distracted by his own orgasm. Zayn stiffened and frowned, telling Niall to go back to their room.

“Oh, shit,” Harry said, slowly coming back to his senses.

Considering how Zayn gets after a knot, Niall could only imagine how difficult it was for Harry to wipe away the daze and smudge from his mind as hastily as he could.

“Erm, sorry, like,” he’d tried. Zayn just grabbed the towels and went back to his mate. They didn’t talk about it.)

So anyway, Zayn continues his weird mood. Harry and Niall are usually constantly at each other’s dicks, whether for laughs or for backhanded crotch-slaps or for general laddish fun, however now it feels too tense, not to mention just plain awkward. All Niall can think about is Harry wanking to their obscene noises, Harry closing his eyes and picturing Zayn on top of Niall, Harry jizzing and knotting up to the thought of them fucking. He must’ve been well turned on to knot without a partner.

“You gonna forgive him?” Niall whispers when they’re in bed that night, crawling along Zayn’s body. It’s a pretty spectacular body, and Niall’s geared for a hand job if Zayn can be bothered, rubbing his dick against Zayn’s flat bum to make his intent clear.

“Hm,” Zayn grunts in that way that he does sometimes, as though he has no idea what Niall’s talking about. Niall is smarter than that. “Oh, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Niall says.

“Dunno, like. How do we even bring it up?” he mumbles, turning onto his back. His soft cock feels snug under Niall’s arse, but his eyes look too heavy for a fuck. “He wants to shag you, love. Like, I know he does.”

“What?” Niall is watching Zayn’s hand, getting closer and closer to his dick. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Does. I can smell it on him when he’s not had anyone in a while, and he gets too close to you. Love him, but he’s not subtle, like, especially when you’re nearing a heat,” Zayn says, and pinches the tip of Niall’s tent so that the waistband drags down his shaft in a long, slow tease. “Bet he knows how insatiable you are, wants in on it or som’ng.”

Niall can’t tell if this is pillow-talk or for real. That doesn’t stop him from rutting into Zayn’s fist the moment it wraps around him, grip promising the kind of hand job Zayn likes to give when he’s a bit sleepy and wrecked – the slow, tight kind. “What would you do if we… If I wanted it?” he asks.

“Have you thought about having sex with him?” Zayn’s voice goes throaty and possessive.

“When I was sixteen, I did,” Niall admits, rocking back and forth. “But you, Zayn, you knocked me off my feet, and I love you, yeah?”

“Yeah, and I love you, too,” Zayn says, calming down. He fills up the room with the slip-slap sound of Niall’s foreskin sliding over his wet tip and back, Zayn’s eyes nearly shut and Niall’s on his own dick. “Would you let him suck you off?”

It’s so sudden, so out of place. “Zayn—”

“If I was there, watching, and you were hard and going into heat and begging for someone to touch you, and I said that it was okay, would you let him, like?” Zayn asks. There’s genuine curiosity in his tone, smugness arching his eyebrows. He’s so beautiful and it drives Niall mad.

“Yeah,” Niall whimpers. He closes his eyes and fucks harder, faster, patience slipping.

“And would you let him touch you here?” Zayn’s other hand wriggles into Niall’s boxers, cupping his arse cheek. “Would you let him inside?”

“Zayn,” Niall gasps. His orgasm’s churning in his balls, humming at the base of his dick.

“Would you let him lick you, finger you, fuck you, empty his balls out in you?” His dick sits firm against Niall’s thigh now, all stiff and so thick, and it works something wild into Niall’s body knowing that Zayn’s getting off on this, too – that Zayn would get off watching Harry fuck Niall. “Would you let him knot you?”

“Yes,” Niall sobs, and comes with the shame of it crawling down his throat and chest in a flush of heat. Zayn’s fingertip slides past his rim.

“You’re all wet for him, and he’s not even here,” he whispers.

Niall nuzzles into Zayn’s neck. “Open me up and put your dick in, yeah? Fuck’s sake.”

It’s not unusual for Zayn to be very quiet during, because he’s not someone who needs to talk and make noise when he’s getting off, not like Niall. His fingers work wonders, if only a little too quick, but that just makes Niall grin at Zayn’s neediness, patience wearing thin when Zayn finally gets his cock up against Niall’s hole. He jerks in hard when Niall has a go at continuing their little fantasy.

“You know Harry doesn’t like condoms,” he starts, feeling brave. “You could do me after, while I’m still wet and dripping.”

“You’d like that,” Zayn says, no question to it.

“I might, but I’ve never tried,” Niall says. Of course Zayn knows that, because he was Niall’s first, and so every time someone had come inside him it’d been Zayn.

“But you like it when I fuck you twice in a night, like,” Zayn grunts.

“Yeah,” Niall nods, hand working himself fast, fast, faster. “Yeah, I fucking do.”

“Shit.” The slick sound of Zayn licking his lips is a detail that Niall is sure not to miss, because it means that Zayn’s been panting his mouth dry, and is gonna come, soon. “In or out?”

“In, Zayn,” Niall whimpers.

Zayn finishes first, and Niall gets off grinding himself on Zayn’s knot, the pressure against his slick walls and prostate more than enough to make him cry out and splatter more thick wads onto Zayn’s chest. He even manages a drop on the skull at the tip of Zayn’s collarbone, which is impressive for his second load of the night. Zayn doesn’t even wait to catch his breath before he’s kissing Niall, slow and wet and messy against his mouth.

Niall still doesn’t know if they’ll go anywhere with the whole Harry thing, if it’s little more than something dirty to swap back and forth at night. Either way, he’s in, one hundred percent.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

A couple of days later, huddled away from the world in their own bed, _finally_ at home, Zayn whispers, “Were you serious about Harry, love? B’cause I was.”

They’re under the duvet in nought but briefs, and Niall’s dick perks up instantly.

“We could ask him, like,” Zayn goes on.

“Ask him what?” Niall needs to hear it explicitly, get a grasp of every filthy detail of what Zayn wants to see.

“Ask him to fuck you when you need it the most,” Zayn murmurs, fingertips drifting up Niall’s thigh and along the ridge of his hard dick.

Niall pushes forward into Zayn’s hand. “And you’d, like, just sit there and watch him?”

“Can’t let Harry have all the fun,” Zayn says carefully. The words are framed by his wet lips and the blush around them, skin raw from their rough snogging. Niall’s scent clings to Zayn in ways he didn’t know it could when he was sixteen and his mouth watered when Zayn woke up still scenting from a dirty dream, and Niall fancied him so much that he had a tough time not getting on all fours on top of him and working himself off against Zayn’s tummy. “I’d tell him how you like it, yeah? Because I know how to take care of you, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, eyes slipping shut. He cried when he and Zayn first had sex, seventeen years old and not expecting that growing stretch of a knot, the soreness that lasted fifteen minutes. Most omegas do, their bodies so new, confused by it, but Zayn calmed him down, turning Niall onto his front and placing a towel beneath him once it was over, spreading his legs and letting it leak out. Niall was so embarrassed but Zayn told him it was okay, cooing and smiling and whispering as he took a warm, damp towel to Niall’s arse and bollocks to wipe the come off of him. It’d felt like buckets even though Niall knew even then that it was probably only a few tablespoons’ worth.

“So I’ll tell him how you like to be touched, and handled, and sucked, and kissed, and after he’s done, if you’re not, like, too sore, I’ll have a go, too,” Zayn offers, wanking Niall off in a smooth, slow set of pulls.

Niall opens his mouth to talk, instead moaning against Zayn’s thumb and sucking it in without question. “You gonna watch the whole time? Make sure he’s doing it right?” he asks when Zayn slides his hand down Niall’s chest, using his slick thumb to play with the tip of his own cock. Niall rocks Zayn onto his back and gets to work sucking Zayn off, only resisting Zayn’s hold on his head to say, “Keep going.”

“Of course I’ll fucking watch,” Zayn grins. “I have to make sure he’s treating you right, don’t I? Wouldn’t be fair if you were all limbs out, moaning, wet and loose and ready for him, yeah, and he just stuck his knob in like a tit, would it? Can’t have that. Not on my watch, I promise.”

Wriggling against the bed, Niall nods around his mouthful, trying to decide if he’s going to make Zayn knot up. That’s always so messy, but right now it looks so big, ready to swell, like an orgasm could feel too weak if Zayn didn’t. Niall holds Zayn’s knot in his hand and squeezes, knocking Zayn’s voice out of his throat in an eager groan.

“And I’ve always wondered how you look getting fucked, from another point of view,” Zayn admits, hips bumping up in aborted thrusts. “Even thought of asking to video us going at it, but that sounds too, like, risky, considering the fans, so this’s great, love. And Harry’ll be so into it, you know he will.”

The rush and thrill is too much; Niall comes, wrapping a hand around himself, desperate. He hadn’t meant to. He just… Zayn with a hand resting over his fly while he watches Harry rut into Niall, that’s such an _image_.

“You know his dick is bigger than mine, though,” Zayn says.

“Don’t care,” Niall is quick to insist. He’s still hazy so he’s having trouble thinking straight, but it’s true.

“You’re such a kiss-arse,” Zayn scoffs, not that it sounds like he’s complaining. His stomach’s locking up, muscles clenching and unclenching so that when Niall lays his palm flat over Zayn’s bellybutton, he can feel Zayn tense as he starts to come, knot popping out in Niall’s grip. He holds it for two minutes, body rearranged so that he’s got one leg slung between Zayn’s, kissing his neck while his dick shoots off smaller and smaller pulses of jizz.

“So it’s gonna happen, then,” Niall says quietly, cleaning Zayn up with a towel from the floor. He’ll have to change the sheets.

“If Harry agrees, yeah,” Zayn nods.

“You should talk to him. My heat’s due in a couple of days. You set the rules, and make sure he’s free,” Niall says, because he gives people too much leeway, especially Harry. Zayn is so much more set in what he wants and what he’ll give and what he’ll get, strangely organised for someone who never does the washing.

Zayn nods, obviously not up for any more talking if the way he pulls Niall down for a snog is anything to go by.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall is waiting on the bed, wearing thin boxers and a cotton shirt. He loves how everything feels against his skin and usually that’s enough to ground him, rolling around in the hotel bed sheets to get to different cold spots keeping him happy till he has someone else to play with. Zayn left to get Harry—who agreed eagerly to a threesome, Zayn had told Niall while he fingered him so well his brain got mushy and he needed to explain _again_ —but that was ten minutes ago, and Harry is only across the hall. Niall whimpers and debates going to look for them.

The orders had been very clear, however; stay, wait, and don’t do anything that could get him too excited.

“Zayn,” Niall calls out, but his voice is shot thin. He coughs, and tries again, louder, deeper. “Zayn, where are you?” A click, a swing, some murmuring. “Zayn?”

“Here, love,” Zayn replies, in the middle of shedding his cardigan when he comes through the bedroom door.

“Zayn,” Niall smiles, reaching out for him.

Harry’s here, too, coming in with his head tilted down, and he answers Niall’s grin—Niall’s cheeks are probably very pink, but hopefully in the available, attractive way—by biting down on his own.

“Niall’s in the sunshine phase, aren’t you?” Zayn murmurs, coming in close for a kiss then nuzzling down to Niall’s throat to smell him, letting his breath out in a thick, shuddery exhale that’s hot and damp on Niall’s collarbone. Niall wriggles happily, basking in the attention from Zayn’s hand on his stomach, and Harry’s half-smirk and interested eyes. “You need to get him used to your scent. Like, makes it easier, later.”

The hand on Niall’s tummy slides up, wrinkling Niall’s top, and Zayn cups Niall’s neck and invites him in for a slow, easy snog. Niall must be scenting already because Zayn’s body is responding in turn with that familiar waft that’s distinctive to him, the smell that Niall knows and loves. As Harry unties his shoes and unbuckles his belt, Niall rolls into Zayn’s hold, lying on his side so that they’re face-to-face, his fingers slipping beneath Zayn’s shirt where his skin is warm, body relaxing under Zayn’s touch.

“Harry’s never seen anyone through a heat,” Zayn whispers. “He only told me just now.”

Harry stalls, knees and one hand on the bed, eyes going back and forth between Zayn and Niall a couple of times.

“That’s alright, isn’t it? You can learn from the best,” Niall snickers, and Harry grins.

“When do they get here?” he asks.

“Ugh, you’re such a tit,” Niall groans. He lets Harry line up behind him anyway. His body feels good and firm, not shy in the slightest in the way he presses against Niall, spooning him. Looking over his shoulder, Niall meets Harry’s mouth, the coolness of his lips not deterring him because it’s made up for by his smooth tongue work and gentle hands.

Right now is the cuddling part, the familiarising, the slow bites and little noises, everyone getting comfortable with each other. Zayn and Niall have learned lots over the years about mating cycles, like how they shouldn’t use soaps during Zayn’s rut because it fucks with their scents, but Niall’s big thing is this. He’s a touchy-feely person in general, so it’s doubly important that he gets lots and lots of attention during his heats, or he’ll get miserable and needy.

Things come to a calm end when Niall burrows his head into Zayn’s neck, but Zayn rolls Niall over so that he’s on top of Harry, instead. Sometimes Harry gets lonely on his own, coming to sleep with Niall and Zayn, so Niall doesn’t usually sprawl on top of Harry since he moves in his sleep, plus he can get really sweaty. He only allows it now because Harry’s hand goes straight to his hair, playing with it while Zayn unbuttons their shirts, and therefore Niall can’t resist resting his head on Harry’s smooth chest. Zayn slings one arm over Niall and switches the lights off.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall wakes up panting, his hips moving greedily against Harry’s thigh, and he only knows that it’s Harry because he smells like Harry, the pillow smells like Harry, the bed smells like Harry.

“Zayn,” Niall moans.

“Niall, I’m right here,” Zayn whispers from behind him. “You remember what’s going on, yeah? Harry’s gonna take care of you.”

Yeah, he remembers. “And you’re gonna watch,” Niall says with a hint of a question.

“I’ll be right there,” Zayn says, pointing to a posh-looking armchair beside the bed. He keeps his hold on Niall for a few more seconds, kissing him thoroughly like he doesn’t want to leave any part of Niall’s mouth untouched, before moving off the bed and taking his seat.

Harry slept in his skinny jeans for some reason. They’re so tight that Niall, even sleepy-foggy and horny as he is, can trace the hefty outline of Harry’s dick, how it’s pinned down by the black denim. Firm under Niall’s hand, it’s dead fucking obscene, and Niall laughs a little bit not for the first time at the ridiculousness of such tight trousers, directing his grin up at Harry as an invitation to share the hilarity of it.

His wild hair hanging this way and that, Harry looks _serious_ to the point where he seems almost worried. Without being told, Harry uses his big hands to get Niall onto his back, Niall’s legs already opening for him, for his body that’s roughly the same size as Niall’s if only a bit taller and slimmer in different places.

“Harry,” Niall whimpers, his dick already too fucking hard.

Their bodies are so different; while definition runs in the lines down Harry’s abs and the V of his hips—exposed by his open shirt—and the curves of his thighs, Niall has nicknamed his own biceps Pride and Joy, respectively. His back muscles are something he’s also quite pleased with, and he knows that Zayn feels the same way because when Zayn takes him from behind (whether it be Niall bending over, Niall on his hands and knees, or Niall riding him in reverse cowgirl or whatever stupid name it’s got) his hands go mental on him, feeling the ripple of movement under his palms. Niall wants to tell Harry that he looks great, but his lips are interrupted by Harry’s tongue. Niall holds Harry’s hair at the back of his head, scrunched in his hand, and lets Harry do as he pleases, since that seems to have worked so far.

Harry is good to him; he’s kissing Niall in all the right ways, including down the side of his neck, licking a long stripe up his throat. He grins at Niall, both of them knowing that it’ll be sticky and gross in a minute, and that’s when Zayn reaches forward and eases Harry’s bum down. Then he sits again, hardly having to wait for Harry to move, one little thrust and then longer, deeper ones. They’re all kinda slow, too, even though his big cock’s wedged in tight against the swell of Niall’s.

“Make him come like that. Loosens him up,” Zayn supplies.

Niall looks at Zayn. He’s got one hand curved around his chin, thoughtful and soothing, his cheeks tinting and his eyes unwavering. Zayn never wears trousers when they’re doing it, and the scrape and drag of Harry’s is sort of weird, too harsh when Niall’s body is begging for a reason to get wet, to come, and his nerves are raw and sensitive, taking whatever they can get.

“Jeans, Harry,” he groans. “Christ.”

Maybe he should give Harry a bit more credit, make some more noise. Even though they all slept together, Harry’s scent is throwing him off and making it difficult, and Harry seems to know this because he asks, “Is this alright? Is there something I can do?”

“Here,” Zayn says, moving to help. He gets behind Harry, easing down the zip on his trousers and whispering in his ear. Harry nods and leans back to share a kiss with Zayn, and they look good together, two strong alphas licking and biting at each other’s mouths. Zayn only gets Harry’s trousers as far as his knees before he nudges Harry back to Niall, who’s well into it now, getting tastes of Zayn off Harry’s tongue, moaning with a grin when Harry goes back to grinding.

Now it’s definitely easier – the texture of their briefs works really well for Niall, and apparently for Harry, too. Niall tears his mouth away and cranes his neck, body totally open to Harry’s touch and pressure and his mouth, oh god, his _mouth_. He’s sucking Niall’s earlobe when Niall looks at Zayn, coming for the first time tonight from Harry’s rolling hips. It’s hot and intense and makes his briefs all slippery.

“That was lovely, Niall,” Zayn says, stroking his crotch like proof. “You look fantastic.”

Harry’s hands are soft and his voice is rough when he asks, “What should I do, now?”

“Kiss his neck,” Zayn murmurs, appeasing himself with a squeeze. Niall wants to know if his knot’s pounding, if it’s stiff, desperate for Niall like Niall is desperate for him. “His nipples, too.”

It’s the cockiness in Harry that pulls a smooth smirk to Niall’s lips, because Harry’s still got his jeans at his knees, making it a hassle to scoot down the bed so he pulls away to take them off. His shirt falls to the bed.

“You’re useless,” Niall snorts, but winces as the burn in his blood jumps back from the post-orgasm hum to a hectic buzz. Harry realises that he doesn’t have the time to remove his pants as well, that Niall is getting too impatient too quickly, and nearly snogs his face off in an attempt to distract him. Niall can feel Harry’s fingers tensing on his tummy, and he wants them so much lower – he’s dying for direct contact.

Eventually Harry gets moving, down, down, down, wet tongue and gentle teeth licking and pinching at the skin of Niall’s chest, and his nipples. Harry uses his thumb to play with one, little strokes at first, then he takes a gentle tug.

“Ow! My nips, Harry,” Niall laughs, face scrunching up. Harry and Zayn join in, but Zayn holds his tongue between his teeth like he doesn’t want to butt in and interrupt the comfortable flow of Harry’s and Niall’s bodies. Harry dots smirking pecks down to Niall’s happy trail and Niall bucks against his face.

“Don’t,” Zayn murmurs when Harry’s fingers peek beneath the waist of Niall’s briefs. “Tease him a little bit more.”

“Ugh,” Niall pouts.

Teasing is something that Zayn loves to do and Niall loves to hate. He’s hard, there’s a wet patch at the seat of his pants, and he’s been trying to ignore the ache swelling in his balls but it’s near impossible. Harry dares not disobey, though, so he parts his lips, tongue sneaking out from between them, fast strokes of it following the wet jut of Niall’s tip to the base and back, then directly on the tip, sucking the come through the fabric and making the already sticky blotches bigger with his spit. When Harry moans there’s something unbridled and helpless to it, and then Niall realises that the duvet’s soft, scruffy noises are Harry grinding into the bed.

“How’s he smell, Harry? How’s he taste?” Zayn asks.

“Amazing, for both. Smells different from someone who’s not, like, in heat,” Harry answers, squeezing Niall’s cock and tugging the shaft, making it one obscene arch. “Or maybe that’s because you’ve mated.”

Niall whines and Harry can’t move fast enough when Zayn says, “Take his pants off and suck his dick, yeah?”

For lack of better description, Harry has a big mouth, big enough that he can pull Niall in nearly all the way with little to no real effort. Zayn gives pointers, tells Harry to swallow when Niall comes again, asks Niall how it is, if Harry’s being good for him, and when Niall glances over he’s got one hand in his trousers, his head tilted back.

“Legs up, get his legs up,” Zayn finally murmurs.

Niall is hot and weak and _ready_ , colour setting warm in his thighs and tummy but burning hot on his face. He grabs at Harry’s hair, not at all trying to control his movements because Harry— He’s fucking good at this, is what he is. He takes every order and suggestion into consideration, seeing how he can work Niall into that stunning kind of hopeless wreckage, exchanging cheeky grins with Niall and Zayn every time he makes Niall’s dick spill out over himself. There’s slick on his nose, chin, and hair because he has to keep sweeping it back, Niall’s desperate fingers not attentive enough to cage it all into a bun at the top.

“Zayn, I’m good,” Niall says, gruff voice supported by a silky undertone that Zayn catches, blinking slowly, tongue reaching out to wet his lips.

“Harry.” Harry tenses at his name, head popping up from between Niall’s legs in a way that’s pretty fucking funny when his face is shiny and cherry-red in places. “You’ve got to start slowly when you fuck Niall, yeah? Good and easy, let him get used to you.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. To Niall, he says, “Okay?”

“If I weren’t, you’d know,” Niall smiles.

Serious Face Harry makes a return for this part, his eyebrow forming one long line of concentration, only broken by a little wrinkle in the middle. Harry murmurs, “Need lube, I think,” and plucks it off the bedside table. Niall’s body reacts in ways it wouldn’t if he wasn’t in heat, hence the hand he wraps around himself again to tug out another orgasm, not to mention the whimper and hip-lurch he gives against the slippery press of Harry’s cockhead.

“Carefully,” Zayn reminds them both. “This is when he gets a bit loud, yeah? Just loves it, don’t you, Niall?”

“Yeah,” Niall hisses, rim stretching around Harry’s dick. God, it _is_ big, bigger than Zayn’s, but Niall knew that from the get-go after four years of walking in on Harry mid-wank, mid-prep, or mid-fuck. One day he walked in on all three.

Harry moans from low in his throat, pulling out and pushing in further, dropping his head like he can’t take it whenever Niall gasps or even looks at him.

“Fucking—” Niall’s mouth is too dry. He closes it, swallows, tries again; “Harry, please, Christ.” With a final steady push, Harry is all the way in. His mouth hangs open while he gets used to the heat on his knot, and Niall’s being selfish, he’s aware of that on some level, but the filter on his mouth has been torn away, leaving him spouting out needy, hungry pleas like, “Fucking move, yeah. You can’t stop now.”

“Fuck him hard, Harry,” Zayn growls. Niall can’t spare him a glance but he knows that Zayn’s wanking to them, hearing the slick wet sound of his fist and the way he groans.

Once again, Harry follows instructions as they’re given. His hips fits snugly between Niall’s thighs, breathing hard as he fucks in and out of Niall, and he responds well to his name, his naturally low voice shining when it comes in moans and grunts, catching silent when Niall clenches down on him involuntarily.

Having put Niall six orgasms in, nearing a seventh, Harry’s movements get frantic, his biceps and neck muscles and pecs tightening randomly as he starts bucking hard enough to make Niall jolt against the sheets. Even though he’s come so many times, this side of Harry—teeth locked, sweaty, rough, and desperate—is turning Niall on in a way that’s painfully wild.

And then Zayn shoots off, all over himself, the first blurt of jizz snagging on his chin and clinging to it, the rest falling on his sweats, his stomach, like he’s putting on a show for Niall. Like when they were seventeen and on break, Skyping late at night with headphones in so that their parents wouldn’t hear. He gasps, and when his eyes finally open they’re that lazy kind of hooded, stunned from the feeling. Niall can’t help himself. He barely has to move his hand and he’s lost, too, only grounded by the sharp intake from Harry as his knot suddenly swells up.

“Oh, god,” he whines, hair still a mess.

Niall nods, agreeing. Usually he’d try for another right now, using the bulge of the knot to get off, but despite the great sex Harry still isn’t _Zayn_ , doesn’t sync up with Niall the way mates do. Niall closes his eyes as he goes soft, pushing out little noises when Harry shifts around as he continues to come. Eventually that stops, too, and they’re all left with the quiet and each others’ breathing; the soft whimpers of Niall’s; the harsh, through-the-nose, semi-panting of Harry’s; the calming rhythm of Zayn’s.

“Was that good?” Harry asks, sliding out.

“No, it was awful. The absolute worst. Your dick’s good for shit-all,” Niall mutters, too tired to be anything more than weakly sarcastic.

Harry mimes a dagger to his heart (dork) before collapsing at Niall’s side, on his front. His back is sweaty, muscles still standing out in the halfarsed lighting of the bedroom, one lone lamp on the other side of the room giving off a golden glow for mood.

Slowly climbing onto the bed, Zayn smiles, sweet and loose and easy, kind and loving. “You alright?” he asks so quietly, leaning down to lick and suck at the skin of Niall’s throat.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Niall hums, tilting his head to meet Zayn’s deep kiss.

“Good enough for another go?” Zayn asks, hope shining in his big eyes and the little bags he gets underneath them when he’s happy and excited, that smile reserved for so few in the world, and Niall is blessed enough to be one of them. He’s so _lucky_ , and he nods immediately, his heat meaning he’s always good to go again, need for sex sitting beneath his skin even after Harry’s excellent attempt at fucking his brains out.

“Sick, ’cause you’ve got me hard already,” Zayn admits.

An omega’s scent will do that to an alpha, especially _their_ alpha. Niall bites back on the murmur of, “My alpha, my Zaynie,” because Harry’s watching and that might hurt his feelings.

Zayn catches Niall’s bottom lip between his teeth, gently dragging it. When he lets go, Niall giggles and snogs him well and hard, sharing smirks as Zayn sits up to shrug his shirt off his arms, and Niall slides his sweatpants down. Through Zayn’s thick, heavy, intoxicating scent, Harry’s begins to mingle its way to Niall as well. He’s chewing his lip, and Zayn’s grin becomes small and cocky as he picks up Harry’s top and uses it to clean himself and Niall up.

“Hey,” Harry grumbles, but doesn’t physically protest.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Zayn offers. “C’mere, babe.”

“Zayn,” Niall whimpers. He’s soaked in his need for Zayn, doesn’t want Harry to cause a detour.

Two sets of eyes go straight to him, both concerned, both somewhat understanding.

“You don’t want that?” Zayn asks, leaning down a little bit to give a halfarsed illusion of privacy, his big dick sitting heavy against Niall’s balls. “Do you want Harry to suck you off, instead? And I’ll, like, finger you open again? Make it good?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods, licking his lips.

Harry copies the movement in a quick sweep of his tongue. “Can I kiss you?”

“’Course, Harry,” Niall nods, having caught on to how much Harry likes to hear his name. Harry is gentle with him now, not giving in to Niall’s fierce need, determined to stay calm and careful for some reason while Zayn slides his finger around Niall’s lube-tacky rim. Everything feels tender and raw, ravaged, but Zayn seems to know that, going easy on Niall.

But even Zayn has limits, his patience unwavering but his face flushing red, forehead shining, shifty thrusts giving his dick minimal friction against Niall’s slightly raised thigh. Niall isn’t hard, not yet, but Harry lies adjacent to him and Zayn and gets to work.

Using his tongue to pull Niall’s dick into his mouth, Harry cups Niall’s balls in his hand. They’re not big and heavy like an alpha’s, not made to knock up a mate a hundred times over, but they’re as sensitive as the rest of him when he’s in heat and worked up. Niall whines, low but enthusiastic, jerking into Harry’s mouth.

“Oh, Zayn, _god_ ,” he gasps. “ _Ohh_.”

“Noisier with you,” Harry pulls off to say. He leaves Niall’s semi slick on his stomach.

“’Cause I’m his mate,” Zayn explains, feeding three fingers into Niall. “Reacts more to my scent. It’s not, like, a comment on your skill.”

“Harry,” Niall pleads. He pulls his dick up and brushes the tip against Harry’s pouting lips. The sensation breathes up his spine, and when he does it again, Harry pokes out his tongue, almost like a reward. Zayn gently pushes Harry’s head down.

Niall starts to get louder, liking how it makes Zayn go faster, how it riles Harry up. Sporting a half-chub, Harry’s foreskin is starting to pull back over the tip, slowly since he’s already come and he’s not even touching himself, too busy caressing Niall all over. He holds one nipple between his thumb and forefinger while Zayn takes the other, both applying gentle yet eager pressure to stroke them and make Niall come into Harry’s mouth. It’s so much better when Zayn’s helping out, his hands knowing Niall’s body in ways nobody else does, and Harry’s hands are new and exciting in another way entirely. Niall moans, his stomach tightening and clenching randomly as Harry continues rubbing Niall off.

“God, Harry. Dirty,” Zayn snickers, lubing up.

Pleased with his jizz-smeared masterpiece, Harry shrugs. “Looks good, though, doesn’t it?”

“Now, Zayn. I’m ready now,” Niall insists.

“Okay.” Harry moves out of the way so that Zayn can kiss Niall, starting at his collarbone and nipping and sucking all the way to his lips, smiling against them.

“In,” Niall playfully demands.

Harry chuckles. “Bossy boots.”

“I like it,” Zayn grins with a little peck, biting his slim bottom lip as Harry helps him inside. His jaw goes slack, eyes opening to half-lidded, and rolling back just a little. “Fuck’s sake, that’s good. You’re all slick ’nd hot.” Harry’s hand slips between them and yanks roughly at Niall’s cock, playing with the tip till Niall squeaks, barely able to push out more spunk this time onto his already-messy stomach.

Panting, Zayn gets right to it, doing everything how Niall wants it, needs it, _loves_ it. Little circles. Hip rolling, not straight thrusting. The angle’s spectacular, and the haze of pleasure only breaks when Niall feels Zayn back off, but it’s only to spread Niall’s thighs open so that Harry can lie down and blow him again. His tanned (how the fuck…) arse flexes as he humps the bed, moans bleeding into wails as Niall’s scent gets stronger, Zayn’s grunts and groans and gasps coming in time with his movements. The shadows and shine of his muscles and the ink of his tattoos feel good under Niall’s fingertips.

“How’m I doing, love? How’s this?” Zayn asks.

He’s gone so gruff and quiet that Niall can only whine, grinding up into Harry’s mouth and down on Zayn’s dick. He wants a knot – _Zayn’s_ knot. If it comes to it, he’ll fucking beg. Heats make Niall particularly desperate, but that’s not anything surprising, and coming again does nothing to dull his intense craving.

“Harry, I have to kiss Niall,” Zayn huffs, so Harry gives a lewd suck and moves out of the way, hurriedly wanking himself off.

They go at it roughly, and Niall throws his arm around Zayn, clawing stripes down his back, and Niall loves him so, so much, he doesn’t even need a hand to come again, especially since Zayn breaks their kiss so he can make this heart-stopping, sighing moan as his knot swells up stiff. The next kiss is messy with their labored breathing, and Zayn manages to work Niall through two more orgasms with Harry beside him, rubbing one out for them. Harry knee-walks to Niall’s side, tone uneven when he asks, “Can I come on him? On his tummy?”

Zayn growls, deep from his chest, and bites Niall’s shoulder, not enough to leave a mark but enough to prove that Niall is his, then again—gentler—on his neck, and earlobe. Niall curls into each one, happy to have the protection of his mate.

“Just his stomach,” he answers.

Harry would be mad to go against Zayn’s order. He nods and perches closer to Niall, sliding his foreskin up and down in a flurry of movement, eyes squeezed shut and teeth bared like he’s in pain. Niall reaches up on autopilot, squeezes Harry’s knot, and Harry’s gaze snaps to him as he comes instantly from the pressure. The second he’s finished, Zayn ducks in to kiss Niall again, reestablishing his authority, but remaining kind with his touch, hands soft on Niall’s melting body.

“Love you,” Niall grins sleepily. He’s not used to so much excitement in such a small time frame, even during a heat or rut. They usually take snack breaks and naps in between.

“Love you, too,” Zayn smiles.

“Love you, Haz,” Niall says, tone light so that Zayn’s instincts don’t spike.

“Mm,” Harry replies in a happy moan.

“Christ,” Zayn whimpers.

He pulls out ever so slowly, every movement weighed by his fatigue. He picks up a towel from the floor to put under Niall’s bum immediately, not wanting to deal with a mess.

“Why didn’t you use that instead of my shirt?” Harry asks.

“Was funnier,” Niall says.

Zayn curls around Niall’s side but he won’t sleep until Niall is empty, then he mops up the rest of the stickiness and raises the duvet up, waiting for Niall’s say.

“Yes, please,” Niall decides. Zayn’s hands are smooth, gentle on his back, while Harry’s arm rests stretched across both of them, rubbing Zayn’s shoulder.

Making a little spitting sound as he gets Niall’s hair in his mouth, Harry hitches the duvet to cover him better. “Thank you.”

“’S alright, Harry,” Zayn smiles, giving Harry’s wrist a little kiss. “We enjoyed ourselves, didn’t we?”

“Best threesome ever,” Niall agrees, turning around to kiss Harry. This kiss is slow, a _goodnight_ , a wind-down. When Niall returns to Zayn he does much the same, only it’s topped off with _love you_.

“Definitely,” Harry says, then yawns, and they all decide that it’s time for sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The 1975's _Heads. Cars. Bending._.
> 
> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> * * *


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